


In Bredene

by itsaquinnquinnsituation



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 20:02:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2441195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsaquinnquinnsituation/pseuds/itsaquinnquinnsituation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We've seen numerous movies set in gorgeous Brussels. Then we had that cuteness in Brugge. But just a few kilometers north, a completely different story was unfolding...</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Bredene

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction, intended for entertainment purposes only. I do not mean to offend or insult anyone. No characters, real or based off real people, belong to me. I am not making money off my work.
> 
> This is my universe and exactly how I see it. Writing should be enjoyed, not judged.
> 
> I've actually lived in Bredene, and it left an indelible mark on my heart. I look back on those times with very bittersweet feelings.

 

 

Storms are some of the most annoying and unsettling occurrences on the North Sea coast. 

 

 

When the knock came on his door, he didn’t actually get out of bed, until it repeated at least three more times, each time growing more demanding and desperate. Finally, he rolled off of his cot, sighed loudly and found his way to the front door in the dark, tripping over electricity cords. He never understood the point of having them, if none of the outlets ever worked in that part of his apartment. 

 

When Louis first fell into him as he opened the door, he immediately thought he was drunk, because he was drenched head-to-toe and shaking violently. Harry pulled him in without questions, but as he maneuvered his body, he could smell no alcohol on his breath. That anyone would want to be out on the streets in this type of whether was utterly perplexing, but then again, this was Bredene. In Bredene, anything went. 

So he pulled Louis in and started yanking off his clothes, muttering: “I’m gonna have to draw you a bath” as Louis just stood there and let him. It was almost surreal as Harry was suddenly acutely aware of the wind outside ripping branches off trees and throwing them into broken windows of his apartment house. Louis, dripping cold rainwater, watched him.

 

 

Harry never questioned it. In Bredene, you just didn’t.

 

 

His work consisted of driving a tiny ferry-boat between the dock on Oostende beach and the lighthouse, just a short distance away out in the water, where, on the land just around the lighthouse, some new apartment blocks were to be built. The idea was to attract prospective homeowners, so the ride on the ferry-boat was free. Harry never actually observed any construction taking place in all of the time he’s been driving the ferry, but it wasn’t like he ever cared. Ferry to the lighthouse, ferry back to the beach. Rinse, dry off, repeat. 

 

Louis worked in a warehouse. He did a lot of box-opening, box-sealing, counting, packing and repacking. The warehouse stood in that area of Bredene where one would be afraid to walk even during the day, and not because of the criminal activities, but for the fear that what one sees would send one into deep depression for days. The buildings weren’t just dilapidated, they were degraded in the worst possible ways, with trash, cut rusty wires, blocks of cement, broken bottles littering every inch of the open space. It smelt so bad, that spending more than half-hour outside, would almost always lead to one fainting. Most of the available office space was deserted because restoring it to even somewhat tolerable conditions required a lot more money than the space was worth. A proper name for this neighbourhood in Bredene would probably be a “slum” except that it existed in a developed country mere hours from the blossoming capital. 

 

Harry, by the way, lived in Bredene too. 

 

 

He met Louis accidentally, though he’d probably seen him before and never paid any attention because you see the same people walking the streets all the time – you’d be insane to expect any tourists in Bredene… He later also found out, Louis lived in the same warehouse he worked at…. But so this trip was an ordinary assignment from his boss – to go pick up some bolts and rubber nuts from a warehouse to fit onto some pipes on the ferry and Harry didn’t think twice of it – or of Louis really, who, without a greeting, without a smile, without so much as looking at him, skimmed and nodded at his purchase receipt and went in to get the order. 

Until Harry thanked him for his help.

 

That’s what made Louis raise his head in surprise. In the dim light of the warehouse on a typical cold rainy day on the Belgian coast, his eyes seemed gray and empty, but when he looked at Harry, a tiny spark seemed to go off for a moment. But just like that, it was gone. Then, Harry left.

 

In three days, Louis was at his door step.

 

He didn’t ask how Louis had found him, though, considering that the warehouse was some five hundred meters away from Harry’s shack, he doubted, it would have been all that hard.

 

Louis didn’t say anything. He stood eyeing him from the dark of the night, features effaced by the dense wall of smog, then came in, closed the door and started taking off his clothes. Harry didn’t ask questions. He knew what Louis was there for, and he went along with it. Because it was better than nothing at all. 

 

So that was how it started. 

It was strictly that at first, but as Harry came to know that Louis was staying at the warehouse with no water, no sanitation, no heat and just a tiny electricity generator, he also started letting him take a shower. He never asked why Louis came to be the way he was – in Bredene, it was drug-addicted parents, or no parents at all – something that was true for Harry as well and as Harry’s little place had no heating either, it was really all just a degree of who was “better off.”

 

But Louis was hoping to move to Brussels.

 

Harry heard that accidentally. It was some six months after their little ordeal had started, by which time Louis began leaving his own dirty clothes in Harry’s apartment, and borrowing some of Harry’s – most of which he never returned – but it didn’t matter – with people stealing clothes from the clotheslines routinely in Bredene, there was a good chance you would get your old t-shirt back in a year or two – plus a couple new holes or grease stains – something Harry called “neighbourhood clothing recycling.” It really didn’t matter so much.

What mattered was that Louis started spending the night too. And at night, he clawed. They never really talked so much about anything, least of all any kinds of feelings, but on cold autumn nights, Louis squeezed him for his dear life, seeking out every ounce of warmth, and if that was still not enough, both would shake under an old rugged blanket until they finally fell asleep. So Harry really didn’t know what to make of Louis then, especially, since sometimes he came over way too exhausted to do anything but to lay on his cot and let his teeth clatter. And Harry searched his heart vigorously as Louis pressed and cuddled into him, sometimes appearing as if he wanted to crawl under his skin, if that somehow could take away all the cold. 

So the whole thing about Louis moving to Brussels was a little unsettling. Harry didn’t say a word, of course, because nobody in their right mind could ask anyone to remain in Bredene. That would be a joke, and not a funny one. At times, Harry also played out scenarios of winning a big scholarship in a university in Namur and getting out of Bredene to live in a dorm with central heating, but then he was always forced to remember that he hadn’t been in school since he was thirteen, forced to support himself and his ailing father. So that was that, ferry to the lighthouse, ferry back, at night he could run past the lake and if he could hold his breath for a good minute, could even avoid gagging at the rotting trash on the ground. 

He didn’t really know where his existence was taking him but he genuinely feared questioning it. Keeping busy was the best way to ward off those thoughts. And then came Louis and made his life ever so much busier. Now he had to bother to do his laundry as well, to feed him, to warm up some tea for him from the single electric outlet that worked in his apartment… all these things Louis brought with him, kept those other thoughts out of Harry’s mind. 

 

If Louis were gone, those thoughts would return. 

 

If Louis were gone, nothing would happen, really, because Harry would go about his life as before, ferry to the lighthouse, ferry back, “borrowing” some of the more decent shirts of the neighbours’ clotheslines, endlessly trying to fight the mold which had long since took over his apartment, warming up water to make instant noodles, you know, the usual thing…and yet…

 

Now rewind back to now. 

 

Regardless of all that, Louis now waited, drenched down to his underwear, as Harry watched the water fill up the bathtub, which, besides a huge crack down the middle, also sported big rusty spots and looked, overall, like a nasty old crime scene. When it was done, Harry physically led Louis to it by the hand, took off the rest of his clothes and made him get it but Louis just sat there and stared blankly at the water, continuing to shiver until Harry suddenly took off his own clothes as well and got in with him. 

He hugged him from behind and felt his back rise and fall, and for what it was, all that it was, he treasured the moments of holding something warm. He couldn’t think of what to call it, or how long it would last, what it even was, really, but none of that mattered in that minute, because whatever it was, it was, and it was better than nothing. 

Suddenly, Louis spoke.

“They are not going to move me to Brussels. They gave that job to somebody else.”

Harry didn’t say anything, just observed Louis bring up his hand to move his overgrown bangs out of his eyes. He stated flatly:

“I will never make it out of Bredene.”

Harry didn’t say anything again, because none of that surprised him, and because, at that time, he frankly did not care, and if he did, he was selfishly happy, because as much as he never allowed himself to hope that tomorrow he would have Louis next to him just like he did today, the fact that Louis would not be moving to Brussels seemed to give a bit more weight to that hope. 

Suddenly, Louis brought his head up, leaned away and looked him straight in the eyes. His look was desperate and probing, as if Harry’s eyes contained answers to all the “why’s” of the universe. He looked for a long time, then he asked:

“Is this all that remains?”

 

Harry looked at him pensively, mildly surprised and a bit at a loss, momentarily unsure of how to answer that question, when suddenly, it all became crystal clear as he thought of himself saving up fresh tea packets for Louis as he was re-using old ones for his own tea for the n-th time, of letting him wear some of his more decent sweaters, of waiting for him, every night, even on those nights when he knew Louis would not come, and of Louis clawing at him in the night as they, like two stray dogs in the street, were shaking under Harry’s old blanket. Somewhere in the midst of it all, he never took care to find out what colour Louis’ eyes really were because everything was grey by default in Bredene, but he’d be damned as he was looking into them now, that Louis’ eyes were the clearest shade of blue. 

“No” – He shook his head at Louis, without blinking, - “And if it is now, it can be so much more.”

 

And that was the first night they didn’t fuck and didn’t claw. That was the first night they made love.

 

Storms are some of the most exciting and inspirational occurrences on the North Sea coast.


End file.
